


Working Late

by itchyfingers



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, Jaguar!Tom - Freeform, PWP, Sex on a Car, Villain!Tom, jaguar - Freeform, jaguar ad, maybe dead people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itchyfingers/pseuds/itchyfingers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the eleven second teaser ad featuring Tom Hiddleston as a villain in a Jaguar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Late

He was late picking you up. Tom was never late unless he’s been working. The antique grandfather clock in the foyer chimed half-past and the sound echoed and faded to be replaced by the throaty purr of his Jaguar pulling up outside your townhouse. You twitched the curtain aside to check – he wasn’t the only person you knew that drove a Jaguar – and the red lacquer of your nails shone almost as much as the rain-slicked street outside in the headlamps from his car.

You hurry down the steps outside your house, the red on the soles of your heels the only other red you wear, and he presses a kiss to your cheek before he helps you into his car. You catch a whiff of his cologne, deep and spicy, and the faintest hint of burnt acetone. You know that smell – gunshot residue. He _has_  been working.

 

His hand rests on your knee as he pulls back into traffic, and as the road slips by under the steady hum of the tires, his hand drifts up your leg. His fingers slide under the edge of your skirt – that’s one of his rules, skirts only, no trousers – and massage the thin skin of your inner thigh. You slip down in the seat against the smooth leather and spread your thighs further apart for him without being prompted. You know what he wants from you. One leather clad finger – he’s still wearing his gloves and you realize he must still be working – strokes you over and over through the silk of your knickers. He draws circles around your clit that leave you squirming but don’t give you enough to actually let you come and you bite your lip to keep from whimpering. Tom loves keeping you right on the edge for hours sometimes, letting you know exactly who is in charge. He can’t feel your wetness through the leather but he inhales deeply and savors the scent of your arousal that is filling the cabin. He pulls off the main road and you have no idea where you are, but there are no lights and the slick drizzle of rain obscures the darkness even further. He pulls off somewhere, the steady beat of the wipers against the window stopping as he halts the car and turns off the headlamps. It is completely dark and you are lost. The only thing darker than your surroundings is the black fire in his eyes. He so enjoys his work.

Tom presses the dampened leather fingertip against your mouth. “Keep your eyes closed, pet.” Your eyelids close automatically. You know better than to question him. His door opens and shuts and then you hear the pop of the boot unlatching. You feel the shift of the vehicle as something heavy is removed. The movement repeats and you count – four heavy somethings. The boot slams shut and then there is silence. With your eyes closed time dilates, the sound of your heartbeat and the rain pinging against the roof the only thing to focus on. You don’t know how long you have been sitting there when your door opens.

You don’t open your eyes. You just wait. His fingers close around your wrist and he pulls you from the car. He must be done working because the gloves are gone. “You can open your eyes now, darling.”

You open to see him smiling. He only calls you darling when he is in a particularly good mood; today must have been a good day. The black fire is still smoldering in his gaze and he pulls you around to the front of the car. Your heels clack on the wet pavement – you are parked in the middle of a road somewhere – and the slackening rain drips from the trees that line both sides of the deserted lane. He presses a button on the remote in his hand and the headlamps turn back on, silhouetting you against the dark and lighting the individual raindrops into sparkling crystals as they cascade through the beams piercing the dark.

“Lay back and think of England, pet.”

The reference eludes you and your brows knit together in confusion, your mouth opening slightly. He steps forward and his fingers wrap carefully around your neck and he presses you backward. “Oh, I think you know what I’m saying.” His other hand closes around your thigh and hitches up your leg and you suddenly do know what he’s saying.

You lay back against the bonnet of the vehicle, the wet metal warm against your back. His hands shove up your skirt and he bends to kiss your hip before his teeth close around the fabric of your knickers and he begins to tug them downward. After a few seconds, his long fingers close around the other side and he yanks them off and shoves them in the breast pocket of his suit coat, letting the fabric peek out like a naughty pocket square. You hear his belt unbuckle and then the metallic zing of the zipper coming undone and you have only the warning of him rubbing the head of his heavy cock against your sodden wetness for a second before he forces it into you.

Your body slips against the slick metal and he grabs your hips and pulls you back down to where he wants you as your cry is still echoing in the trees. The squawk of a few disturbed birds drowns out your second cry as he pulls out and then shoves back in. You wrap your legs around his waist and cant up your hips for the third thrust and you moan as he leans over you and bites your bottom lip.

His hips continue to piston even as he gently kisses your face, licking away the rain drops from your skin. You know you should be scandalized by what you are doing, but the way his thick cock stretches you perfectly with every thrust drives any thought of propriety out of your mind. Right now the Queen could ride by in an open carriage and you wouldn’t stop what you’re doing to wave. Your breath starts to come in steaming gasps, joining the rain in a cloud around you. Your arms twine around his neck for a moment before he grabs your hands and hold them against the bonnet. His teeth dance along your throat, teasing the throb of your veins with the warm rasp of his tongue before he bites at your neck.

Tom gathers both of your wrists over your head with one hand and wraps the fingers of the other around your throat again. “Such a beautiful throat,” he murmurs against your ear. You try to pay attention to his words though you are much more interested in the way his cock rubs perfectly against you with every needy thrust between your thighs. He squeezes and you can’t breathe for a second and then the oxygen burns back into your lungs when he lets go. “Such a beautiful fragile throat.” He squeezes again, longer this time, and your eyes fly open. You’re not scared though. He knows exactly what he’s doing and you know he would never hurt you. He lets go with a smile. “Such a good pet,” he whispers against your ear.

His obvious pleasure in you sends a rush of heat through your body and a new flood of wetness to the apex of your thighs. Your legs tighten even further around him, your toes curling as much they can inside the expensive high heels as he take the hand that was around your throat seeks out your clit. He rubs with intent to fulfill rather than to just tease this time as he quickens the rate at which he pounds into your body. You arch up off the car as the first premonition of your orgasm shivers through your body.

He lets go of your wrists and grabs a handful of your hair as his lips crush down on yours. You grab onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his suit coat, and he swallows the shuddering moans being ripped from your throat, one after the other in quick succession. He pulls back from your mouth long enough to tell you, “Come on, kitten. Give me what I want,” and with a final scrape of his nail over your clit and one more thrust of his cock into your tightening pussy, you scream out his name into the storm that is drenching both of you and you shake as you feel the last few slams of his cock release a hot scalding gush of come into your waiting body.

He collapses over you, shielding you from the rain, and you cling to him while both of you pant for breath. He smiles and the black fire is gone from his eyes. Work is over for the day.

Tom helps you back into the car and then hurries around. You reach over and open the door for him and he slips quickly in and slams it shut, laughing as both of you drip onto the supple leather. “Well, darling, I had made dinner reservations, but I’m afraid we both don’t look quite the thing. What do you say to some takeaway and an evening on the sofa at home?”

You smile back at him. Work is definitely over for the day. “That sounds perfect.”


End file.
